The Devil in Devon

Chapter Thirteen

John waited for it: the crushing impact of a bullet against his chest, followed by blossoming blood and pain, and finally darkness that no emergency surgery could rescue him from.

All of it would have happened if Elena hadn't suddenly opened her eyes and lashed out with one bare foot, catching her son behind the knee and knocking him into the grass. The bullet struck an overhead branch instead, sending some nesting birds into a frenzy.

"Alexei, no!" she cried weakly.

The boy struggled to all fours, still gripping the gun. John grabbed his wrist, forced him to drop it, and locked both arms around his slender body.

"Let go of me!" Alexei hissed. He tried to head-butt John, but the doctor moved his face out of the way.

"Calm down, son, I'm not one of them!"

"I'm NOT your son! An IQ test would confirm that instantly!"

Elena, her pale face now blanketed with sweat, struggled onto one elbow and touched Alexei's knee. The boy instantly stilled. "John's a friend," she said hoarsely. "He's here to help-"

Her green eyes, their lustre now absent, rolled back in her head and she collapsed again.

"Mum!" Alexei cried, sounding like a frightened child for the first time since John had laid eyes on him. "Let me go to her! Please!"

The gun was now out of his reach, so John released him carefully. They both crouched beside Elena, who looked more dead than alive. Her lips were bloodless and her skin had an ashy hue. John felt her pulse, which was weak and unsteady, and checked for a bullet wound, but couldn't see blood anywhere.

"I'm a doctor. What happened to her?" he asked the boy, who was squeezing her hand and gently returning her head to his lap.

"I don't know. She wasn't shot. She's got cancer- that's why they separated us. Maybe she's having a relapse. Oh God, Mum." Alexei's thin lips, which were identical to Mycroft's, trembled and tears hung from his lashes.

Their conversation was interrupted by two sets of footsteps hurrying down the path. John heard Mycroft calling anxiously, "John? John, I heard you. Where are you?"

Alexei tensed, eyes flashing over the ground for a potential weapon. "It's all right, they're with me," John assured him before raising his voice. "I'm here. With Diabel and someone else."

The Holmes brothers joined them a moment later. They were both sweating: Mycroft from exertion, Sherlock due to lingering nausea. When he saw Elena, Mycroft fell to his knees beside John and Alexei.

"What's happened?" he exclaimed.

"Her pulse is low and her breathing is irregular," John told him. "We've got to her to a hospital."

"She just collapsed when we were running through the garden, trying to get away from those men," the boy answered without taking his eyes off of his mother. John felt chills at the sight of a man and his secret son kneeling side by side, their attention so focused on the woman who united them that they barely acknowledged each other.

Sherlock wasn't so oblivious. John watched his gaze flit from Mycroft to Alexei and back, lingering over their hair, lips, and other physical features they had in common. Then the younger Holmes surveyed Elena, and the concerned, almost reverent way that Mycroft touched her wrist. His brow furrowed and his mouth tightened.

Oh Christ, John thought, his heart sinking. He's guessed it.

For once, though, Sherlock kept his thoughts to himself. But the next second he overstepped a different boundary.